


every day that you want to change (you can)

by hito



Category: Common Law
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 107. Wes isn't ready to take the costume off yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every day that you want to change (you can)

Wes is driving Travis home from group when they get stopped on Alvarado by a construction worker holding one of those stop-and-go signs. 

Travis deliberately spasms his hand and says, “That is _un_ acceptable! It is not permissible under the legislature for a civilian contractor to establish an ersatz traffic light and stop a _police vehicle_!” 

He relaxes immediately after he says the last word, and throws Wes a blinding grin, inviting him to laugh at himself, inviting him in on the joke. 

Wes sits in front of the piece of plastic and contemplates, and then the construction worker flips it around and he turns left. 

Travis isn’t always wrong. Sometimes Wes does get tired of himself, of the choices he makes. Sometimes Wes doesn’t want to be that person at all. 

“Hey, man,” Travis says, craning his head over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be dropping me home.” 

Wes doesn’t answer. He isn’t thinking anymore. Just driving. 

“Robertson,” Travis says, jerking a thumb back at the intersection. “No?” 

“No,” Wes says, and grins. “I do not feel like taking Robertson right now, babe.” 

“Babe? Homework is over, Wes. I was just joking. Are you mad?” 

“No,” Wes says, and tilts his head towards Travis just enough to give him a quick flash of eyes to go with the sliver of smile. “I’m taking you home. Do you think I’d be doing that if I were mad?” 

“You’re not taking me—“ Travis starts, and then stops dead when he realises where their route is going to end. “You’re taking me home. You’re—“ 

“You got something better on the cards, doll?” Wes asks. 

“I—you _are_ mad,” Travis says. “You are _insane_!” 

That might be true, but Wes is approaching his hotel, and it’s a sharp turn into the parking garage; he has to be careful and attentive, and by the time he’s inside there’s a space opening up right in front of the elevator, and he doesn’t have time to give the possibility the consideration it is probably due. 

“You don’t have to join me if you don’t want to,” he says, leaning into Travis, closer than they’ve gotten without violence in a long time, in far too long. Wes has never had what he’s trying for now, but he’s missed the intimacy all the same. “But you’ll regret it. You know you’d regret passing me up.” 

And then he climbs out of the car and pretends he isn’t feeling every ragged slam of his heart as he waits for Travis to decide. 

When Travis shuts the car door it isn’t emphatic enough, and the steps that lead him to Wes are slow. 

Wes will take what he can get. 

“We shouldn’t keep this fine piece of machinery waiting,” Wes says. He hooks a thumb into the loop of Travis’ jeans, keeping him close and moving. 

“The elevator?” Travis asks doubtfully, stepping inside. “The elevator operator?” He nods at the man in the uniform. 

“Fourteen,” Wes instructs briefly. “I was talking about my body, sweetheart, but maybe you want to judge that for yourself.” 

Travis chokes on his cough. “Sorry!” he says to the operator. “Sorry, he doesn’t—he—“ 

The elevator pings, and Wes drags Travis out. “He understands,” he tells Travis. “You understand, right?” 

The man is grinning as the doors slide shut. 

“He understands.” 

“What the hell is going on?” Travis asks, and then holds up a hand to forestall Wes’ answer. “Let’s just—do you want to do this?” 

Wes is smiling as he steps close and puts his mouth on Travis’ jaw. “Wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t,” he says into Travis’ ear, low, and Travis shudders. 

“Okay,” Travis says, “Okay, let’s just—“ 

Wes pushes his hands under Travis’ Henley and lets his fingers touch skin. Travis makes a small noise; Wes is distantly relieved, because it covers the shaky sound of his own breath. 

“Key’s in my pocket,” Wes tells him. He didn’t mean his voice to sound that husky. 

Travis is looking into Wes’ eyes when he reaches into the pocket of Wes’ pants and pulls out the cardkey, and Wes can’t control what Travis is seeing there, can’t stand whatever it might be, so he takes the key out of Travis’ hand and turns away to swipe it through the reader. 

One of Travis’ hands touches Wes’ hip and the other strokes a long line down Wes’ spine, disquieting even through the suit-jacket, and Wes has to shake them off before he can make it through the door. 

Once Travis is inside, he puts his hands on the door to shut it, but Wes gets there first, arms on either side of Travis, trapping him there as Wes closes his door with the weight of his whole body, keeping him where Wes needs him as Wes slides to his knees. 

“Fuck,” Travis says. “Wes.” 

“Yeah,” Wes says, fingers pulling at the buttons of Travis’ jeans. 

His movements are turning awkward, clumsy, because Travis was right, too, when he said Wes didn’t know how to do this, didn’t know how to play this role. 

Wes doesn’t know how to be anybody else. He’s never really tried. 

“You maybe want to help me out here?” he asks, throwing Travis another grin while he still can. “Or are you getting off on me doing all the work?” 

He feels Travis’ cock move eagerly under his fingers at the words, but Travis’ hands join his quickly. The belt-buckle hits the floor with a quiet thud, and then Travis’ fly is wide open, the white cotton of his boxers rough and warm when Wes touches it. 

Wes puts his mouth over the cloth, gets it wet, gets Travis harder without much effort. 

“Wes,” Travis says, bending at the waist, hand gentle on Wes’ head. 

Travis’ skin is smooth when Wes pulls his jeans and boxers down in one rushed movement, leaving them to pool around his ankles. 

It’s smooth in Wes’ mouth, too, but it’s hotter and saltier and better. 

Wes groans around Travis’ cock. He doesn’t mean to, but Travis’ cock pulses in his mouth, releases more of the taste Wes wants, so he does it again. 

“Fuck,” Travis says, and, “Oh, you like that baby? You want it all, you want to suck it all down, you want me to give you everything?” His hand is heavier on Wes’ head. It’s reassuring. “You just want to lick me until I come all over you like this, until it’s filling your mouth and you can’t swallow it all—“ 

Travis trails off into a moan. Wes isn’t sure when he started licking Travis’ cock, and he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to stop, but he’s hungry for more, and when Travis puts his hand on his own cock, lifts it to offer it up to Wes, he takes as much in as he can, swallows and swallows around the hard length of it until he knows he’s reached his limit. 

Wes accepts his limits. 

But his hands are on Travis’ hips, holding him fast to the door, so Wes tries again, swallows again, though he knows he shouldn’t; and then Travis is sliding further down his throat and Travis is rocking his hips, tiny movements that shove him further inside than Wes had thought possible; and Wes’ hand is on his own cock where it’s soaking through his pants, squeezing harshly; and then he’s choking and pulling off Travis too quickly. 

He presses his forehead into Travis’ stomach, gasping helplessly. 

“Hey,” Travis says, hand in his hair. “Hey, come on.” 

Wes shakes his head. “I can’t.” His voice is wrecked, and Wes barely notices when Travis freezes. “You were right. I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how to be _you_ —I don’t know what the fuck I thought—“ 

More frustration is welling up, ready to spill out of him, and Wes is so sick of it, sick of everything about it, the way it feels, the way he makes himself feel, so he clambers to his feet abruptly and stretches up, rubbing his lips against the soft skin underneath Travis’ chin. 

“Come on darling,” Wes mutters, mouth pushing Travis’ head back. “Come on.” 

And then Travis’ hands are stripping Wes’ pants off his hips, fast and efficient. He drops the mess of clothing to the floor, retrieves his feet from his own jeans in a slick movement and goes for Wes’ jacket and shirt, and then they’re standing almost naked together and Wes doesn’t know what to do. 

He stares at Travis’ Henley, and then at the carpet, at the corner where he’s fairly sure some of his buttons ended up. 

“Fuck,” he says. He closes his eyes and kisses Travis’ throat again, because he isn’t sure he can face this, but he feels the need to do something. 

“Mmm,” Travis rumbles. Wes can feel the vibration under his lips. “Yeah.” 

“I can’t,” Wes says. “I can’t.” 

“You can,” Travis tells him. 

“Fuck,” Wes says again. 

“If you want to,” Travis offers, giving Wes a startlingly happy laugh, and then Wes is flying through the air and landing on the bed with a bounce, because Travis has tackled him there. 

He feels the impulse to fight for a second, to buck Travis off and throw a punch; but he doesn’t want to, that’s just an instinct built up by all the frustration that’s grown between them, so Wes kisses him instead. 

Wes never would have done this. Wes never would have let himself do this. 

But he has, he _has_ done this, and maybe he won’t mind so much now, being himself, if this is who he can be. 

He likes Travis’ mouth, the way it feels moving under his, taking control of the kiss: lush and welcoming. 

Wes hasn’t felt welcome anywhere in a while. 

“How do you sleep in a hotel bed?” Travis murmurs, as his mouth moves slowly, as his tongue dips inside to brush against Wes’. 

Wes might be a little distracted. It takes him a minute to blearily ask, “What?” 

“Although given we’re about to fuck on it I shouldn’t be bringing it up, maybe.” 

“What?” Wes asks sharply. 

“I’m just saying,” Travis says. His mouth is sliding down Wes’ neck, over his clavicle, glancing over his nipple. Wes feels his toes curl. “I would’ve thought you’d have industrial strength bleach and the blacklight out every single night you spent here.” 

“Oh—“ Wes protests. 

“Guess I was wrong about that one.” 

“I’m thinking about it now!” Wes says, horrified. 

Travis’ laugh rumbles out, and the reverberations catch in Wes’ chest. 

“No, no,” he says, putting a hand directly on Wes’ dick. 

“You’re overestimating your own powers of persuasion,” Wes says. 

“I might think that,” Travis says, and his face softens around the edges, which is vaguely terrifying, “if you hadn’t just shown me exactly how much you want it.” 

His hand tightens, pulls, and Wes starts squirming on the hotel bedspread. 

“Fuck,” Wes says. 

“Yeah,” Travis says, sucking a bruise into Wes’ stomach. 

“Fuck,” Wes says, frustrated, and then Travis’ sleeve brushes Wes’ skin, so Wes fights Travis until the pullover is in his hands and then beneath his body. 

“Seriously?” 

“Hah,” Wes says. “Your _shirt’s_ going to need a blacklight.” 

“I don’t think that’s the comeback you think it is,” Travis tells him, but he’s laughing again, so Wes doesn’t mind. 

And then Travis is kissing him again, saying, “Come on,” into his mouth, and the awareness that they really are doing this, right now, is sudden and shocking. But their cocks and chests are bared and sliding together as Travis starts to rock against him, as Wes draws his legs up to give him a place to do it, and Wes finds he doesn’t actually want to deny it, which is the most surprising thing of all. 

“Babe,” Travis says, low and deep. “I want to fuck you, can I—“ 

“Yeah,” Wes breathes, tries to remember if he even has anything, and then knocks Travis off the bed. 

Travis’ eyes are wild when his head pops back up. 

“What the hell was that, man?” 

“Get your stuff,” Wes says. “In that pocket in your jacket, right?” 

“It should be creepy that you know that about me,” Travis says, but he doesn’t sound creeped out, and when Wes says, “Get your ass back up here,” he scrambles for the jacket. 

Wes blinks at the cracks on the ceiling while Travis searches. 

“I wish I wasn’t so bad at being you,” he tells the dingy paint, though mostly he hates losing at homework. 

“I told you,” Travis says, over the sound of a zipper, “You were never being me. All you, Wes.” 

He’s thinking about that when the cool touch of Travis’ fingers against his ass makes him hiss, but it’s a relief to have it, to have Travis do it. It’s a relief to ask, and to get what he wants. 

He wants it. 

“I want it,” he tells Travis, because he does, and he thinks he should, and he _wants_ to, wants to say it. He clenches down on Travis’ fingers. Travis is trying to get a third in, but he gives up for a second and just rubs his thumb around Wes’ hole. 

“I want you,” Travis says, and Wes relaxes in a rush, all at once. 

“Yeah,” he says, and hopes Travis knows what he means. 

“You like getting fucked?” 

“Yeah,” Wes says, and his voice wavers. 

“I really want to fuck you,” Travis tells him, and Wes doesn’t know what to do with that, because it isn’t as if he needs to be persuaded, here. 

“I do,” Travis insists, and there’s something in his voice Wes doesn’t like. 

“Do you not believe me?” Wes asks. “Because I do. I want this. But I’m not here to tend to your ego.” 

Travis is blinking at him, looking kind of astonished, maybe a little bit—thrilled, that’s what Wes thinks it is, and the possibility of it whips through him, sends him alive and aching with the desire for it. 

“And I’m starting to think there’s a reason you need the ego-boost, so unless you want me second-guessing myself—“ 

The packet rips, and Travis is rolling the condom on, and then he’s sliding deep into Wes, fast and hard, and he’s fucking Wes even before Wes’ hands start to claw at his back. 

“Fuck,” Wes bites out, head thrown back. 

“Finally,” Travis grunts, still moving, still shoving so deep and good, and Wes can feel a spasm about to explode in his thigh, but he’s ready to go off, has been ready since he put his mouth on Travis’ cock, and he just needs another second he might not get, but then Travis is unwinding his leg, drawing it straight, and the knot releases abruptly. 

“Oh,” Wes breathes, a long, low moan, because he can’t move his leg, can’t do anything but lie there and shake and cry out as Travis fucks him into incoherency. 

“Ah,” he says sharply, when Travis gets the angle just right and sparks light up his brain. It’s the most sense he’s made in a while. “Yes, there, just—“ 

“I know,” Travis says, “I know, Wes,” and he does, because he stays right where Wes needs him, hitting the perfect place every time, making everything bright and electric. 

“More,” Wes moans, though it’s garbled in his mouth. “I want more, I want you to give me more, I want—“ 

It’s truer than he can say, and then he can’t say anything, because Travis lifts his ass a fraction higher, makes it _better_ somehow, _somehow_ , and Wes is coming in a wash of gorgeous static. 

When he can rouse himself, Travis is slumped over him, panting into his shoulder. Wes nudges him until he pulls out, though he doesn’t like the sensation. 

Travis flops onto his back beside Wes. 

“Your shirt is ruined,” Wes says, pulling it out from beneath his body. It’s only fair, since Wes’ voice is too, hoarse and scraped raw. He hopes his neighbours aren’t going to complain. 

“This girl I used to date, Marissa,” Travis says, which is not a promising start. He sounds sleepy, at least. “Got me a fridge magnet at an airport in Phoenix. Well, she threw the bag at my head when I dumped her, and I chose to accept it as a gift.” 

“This is your idea of pillow talk?” Wes asks. 

Travis yawns, dropping a heavy arm over Wes’ waist. “Shut up, you love my pillow talk.” 

“Jury’s out.” 

“And it says, ‘If I try to be like someone else, who will be like me’,” Travis finishes. “So I kind of still like Marissa, because—“ 

“That is deeply profound,” Wes tells him. “You should tell Dr Ryan that whole story.” 

“Are we telling Dr Ryan things?” Travis asks, muzzily surprised. “But she was right, you know.” Wes is waiting for the punchline, but Travis says, “I like you better like this,” and Wes realises he isn’t talking about Dr Ryan any more at all. “But more when you let me give you what you want.” 

“Yeah,” Wes starts, before he realises Travis has fallen asleep on his shoulder. 

He lets himself settle in, an unaccustomed contentment sweeping over him, smile tugging at the corners of his lips though there’s nobody to see. 

He thinks he might agree.


End file.
